


peppermint

by ihavetoomuchfreetime



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Costa, Crack, Cuddles, Fluff, Humour, Ilness, M/M, Texting, literally so much fluff, movies - Freeform, peppermint tea, well hayfever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3863773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihavetoomuchfreetime/pseuds/ihavetoomuchfreetime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Stranger looks at Zayn sadly. “Are you alright?”</em>
</p>
<p> <em>Zayn sniffs. “No,” he says. “Bit less than alright.” Zayn feels water run from his tear duct down his cheeks, and Brown Eyes looks incredibly upset.</em></p>
<p>  <em>“No, don’t cry,” Jawline pouts, waving his hands uselessly in front of Zayn’s face as if by doing so, he’ll shoo the tears away. “Please don’t cry.”</em></p>
<p>   <em>“I’m not fucking crying,” Zayn says through gritted teeth, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve.<em></em></em><br/><br/><em>or, fic in which Zayn is bitter because he has hayfever, and Liam is a godsend.</em><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	peppermint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [n0pe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/n0pe/gifts).



> lmao so i hope this is what you wanted? i dunnoooo i just got a bit carried away with characterisations and such, but like. I hope you enjoy it!! :))))

****

**_**

**peppermint**

 

Zayn likes spring. As an artist, he’s always adored how everything just gets brighter, the colours begin to get more vivid after the dull, bleak period that is British wintertime, and everything just becomes more _alive_.

Although, with that being said, he fucking _hates_ hayfever with the passion of a thousand burning suns.

Benadryl can literally suck his arse because it’s useless and, even though he is a twenty-something year old, he refuses to make his own GP appointments. He knows what they’re going to tell him, anyway – get some sleep, rest up, drink plenty of fluids and take whatever prescribed hay fever tablet for x amount of days and his symptoms will be gone. He’s tried that before, and ha fucking ha, pull the other one, because it’s been three and a half weeks into March, and he still feels like death personified.

He doesn’t have _time_ to rest up, because of university and deadlines, and he knows that if he gets too used to lying in bed all day and watching random videos on YouTube whilst sipping peppermint tea, he probably will _never_ leave his bed. And he needs a first to be able to get a decent job once he’s finished uni,  because he’ll be damned if he spent three years in university and get a degree just to end up working in McDonalds.

So, no. He won’t be going to see his local GP and he refuses to take whatever bullshit hayfever tablets they thrust upon him. So, he’ll just have to stick to the honey and lemon that Harry gives him every morning along with a pout and a hug, which Zayn reluctantly returns, and Louis’ incessant _just go to the bloody doctor’s, Zayn_ followed by a punch and then the pinching of his cheeks.

Zayn hates his flatmates. But he hates hayfever more. Like, really, what kind of fucking bullshit sickness is this? _Honestly._

Zayn sniffs, bringing up a tissue to dab at his runny nose. He’s in Costa, but if it were up to him, he’d be in his flat under the duvet, lamenting his current state of existence. But, no, it isn’t up to him – it’s up to _Harry_ , apparently, because Harry literally _pushed_ him out the flat this morning, claiming some bullshit about how fresh air will help alleviate his illness – which, no it wouldn’t, because outside is where the _pollen_ is – and that if he needed inspiration for a canvas, he should go out and _find the beauty of Shoreditch_ , or whatever the fuck _that_ means.

And now, Zayn is here, ill and tired and grouchy, with a deadline and absolutely _no_ inspiration.

His flatmates are _loathsome_.

“Stupid fucking illness,” Zayn mutters to himself, dropping his head onto his open, blank art pad. “Stupid fucking Harry, the utter bastard.”

On the table beside him, a girl shoots him a worried look before gathering up her things and swiftly leaving the shop. Zayn frowns. He doesn’t wanna be known as that crazy guy who hangs around Costa and moans about his life; he’s just _ill_ and nobody is taking care of him, and –

“Fucking hell,” he mutters to himself, feeling something drip from his eyes. He’s not bloody _crying_ okay, he’s a bit more in control of his emotions than that. “Sodding fucking hell –“

Zayn sneezes. Loud and abrupt and _messy_ , because what just came out on his tissue does _not_ look like a human body fluid.

Zayn groans, pushing the art pad further away from him and burying his face in his arms. He’s losing it. No, scratch that – he’s _lost_ it, because his eyes are either watering because of this _wretched_ illness or he’s crying; he’s muttering to himself and he’s sick and all he wants is a cuddle and actual _nice_ tea instead of the overpriced, sub-par tea that Costa have the audacity to serve.

He’s about three and half seconds away for sobbing pathetically into his arms on a Thursday morning in Costa, when someone taps his shoulder.

Ugh _, no_ , he’s really not in the mood to be dealing with people. “If you wanna kick me out,” Zayn begins, voice muffled, “you’re going to have to drag me out.” Because, hey, he’s already started a bit of a scene, he might as well finish it. Also, if Harry gets wind of this, maybe he won’t have any more stupid ideas to lock Zayn out of the flat.

“Um,” says a voice – a male voice, baritone and sultry – “I’m not gonna kick you out. I don’t even work here.”

“Great,” Zayn deadpans. “Piss off.” Zayn sniffs again, pathetically. God, he’s such a mess.

The person says nothing, but Zayn hears the chair opposite him scrape on the wood floor. Zayn raises his head to shout at the person who dares to sit in front of him when he’s at the lowest of lows, but as he does so, the words die on the tip of his tongue.

The stranger has deep brown eyes with flecks of silver and green and gold in them, making them shimmer and shine terrifically, in the kind of way that makes Zayn want to paint them. Stranger has a big-ish round nose that suits him, a pair of plush, red lips and gorgeous chestnut hair that’s styled up into a quiff. He’s got a strong, sharp jawline that’s dusted with neat, brown scruff that Zayn wants to run his lips over. He has broad shoulders and muscles that bulge through the sleeves of his black Henley, and he has the kind of arms that Zayn imagines people would fawn over.

Long story short – he’s gorgeous. Zayn doesn’t really want to shout at him now.

Stranger looks at Zayn sadly. “Are you alright?”

Zayn sniffs. “No,” he says. “Bit less than alright.” Zayn feels water run from his tear duct down his cheeks, and Brown Eyes looks incredibly upset.

“No, don’t cry,” Jawline pouts, waving his hands uselessly in front of Zayn’s face as if by doing so, he’ll shoo the tears away. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not fucking crying,” Zayn says through gritted teeth, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve.

“There’s no shame in crying,” Red Lips tells him solemnly, reaching over the table and wrapping his hand around Zayn’s. His hands are warm and comforting around Zayn’s delicate, cold ones. Zayn doesn’t brush his hand away, as he would usually do, but he likes the feeling of being comforted, even if it _is_ by unlawfully attractive strangers.

“I’m not crying,” Zayn says again, but it’s muffled by his blocked sinuses.

Sinfully Tight Henley squeezes Zayn’s hand. “I’m Liam,” he introduces, “and I’m sorry if it’s a bit weird, but I just hate to see such gorgeous people crying alone in Costa.”

Despite himself, Zayn smiles. “Does it happen a lot, then?”

Liam smiles back. “Thankfully, no. I didn’t quite catch your name, love.”

_Love_. Zayn is probably a lot more ill than he perceives himself to be, because he honest to God _swoons_.

“I’m Zayn,” Zayn says, and then promptly sniffs.

Liam hands him a tissue with a sad smile, and Zayn takes it and dabs at his very red eyes. “Don’t you have anywhere you can go?”

Zayn narrows his eyes. “I’m not homeless, Liam.”

Liam holds up his hand in surrender, and consequently removing his from Zayn’s. Zayn frowns at the sudden loss of contact. “I wasn’t insinuating you were,” Liam says, eyes wide and apologetic. “I was just – I –“

“I do have a place I _could_ go,” Zayn interrupts, putting Liam out of his misery, “but I have a fucking bellend for a roommate, and he’s locked me out for the entire day.”

Liam frowns. “What a dick move.”

“I know, right?”

Liam stares at him, lips pursed as if he’s calculating or considering something. Zayn sniffs again, and he goes to wipe his watering eyes once more, when Liam says, “You have every right to kick me in the balls in case I’m being far too forward, but you could come home with me?”

Zayn splutters, sniffs and coughs all at once. It’s not one of his finest moments. “You fucking _what_ , mate?”

Liam’s eyes widen and he shakes his head rapidly, holding up his hands to placate Zayn. “No, no! Not like that, nothing sexual, I swear.”

And, truth be told, Zayn wouldn’t necessarily _mind_ , but he’s not about to say that out loud. He arches an eyebrow instead, prompting Liam to continue.

“I mean, like, since you have nowhere to go, and I, like, want to help, and –” Liam cuts himself off with a shy shrug. “I dunno. I just – yeah.”

Zayn regards him for a moment longer. “This sounds oddly like some sort of preposition, Liam.”

Liam looks troubled and makes a sound at the back of his throat. “It’s nothing like that. I promise.”

Zayn’s eyes narrow. “How do I know you won’t chop me up into tiny pieces and feed me to your pitbull?”

“Do I look like the type to do that?”

“I dunno,” Zayn says flippantly, “it’s always the types that nobody suspects.”

Liam looks even more troubled now, his bottom lip poking out. Zayn supresses the urge to poke it. “I don’t even _have_ a pitbull. I promise – no funny business.”

Zayn feels his resolve crumbling as he watches Liam sat across for him. He _genuinely_ wants to help _and_ look after Zayn, and the fact that he is incredibly gorgeous doesn’t make Liam’s offer hard to resist. Zayn caves. “Fine, fuck,” he sniffs. Liam looks like an elated puppy dog.

“Brilliant,” he enthuses, standing up. Zayn grabs his things, shoves it into his leather brown satchel before sniffing again.

“I feel ill,” Zayn laments, pouting when his eyes continue to water. Fuck hayfever, _honestly._

“Not for much longer!” Liam tells him with a grin. “I make the best chicken soup.”

Zayn begins to walk to the door, eyeing Liam dubiously. “If you drug it –“

“I won’t!” Liam says adamantly. “Promise.”

Zayn hums noncommittally, stepping outside before sneezing loudly. They’re in the middle of London for fucks sakes, there’s only pollution and buildings, so where the fuck is the pollen coming from to attack him?

“My car is just down the road,” Liam tells him, beginning to walk.

“I hope there aren’t any dismembered limbs hidden in the boot and inside the seats.”

“What has happened to you to make you so suspicious?” Liam asks him, a teasing grin stretching across his lips.

“Stranger danger,” Zayn tells him simply, smiling.

Liam just rolls his eyes, before pulling his keys out of his back pocket and unlocking a little red, beat up Corsa. He holds the door open for Zayn, and Zayn slides in, still looking at Liam in a dubious manner. Liam slides in, jamming the keys into the ignition and turning them to the engine rumbles, before pulling away from the curb.

Zayn sniffles, and then sneezes three times in rapid succession, and he’s almost 304% sure that with every second that passes, his hatred for this bloody disease that he’s been plagued with and Harry elevates. In his peripheral, he sees Liam looking at him, pityingly.

“You’re really poorly, huh?”

“No fuggin’ shid,” Zayn deadpans, but the effect is lost because of his blocked nose. Oh, it just gets better and better.

“Don’t worry,” Liam reassures, “I have a fuck ton of peppermint tea – lemon or blackcurrant, take your pick – vapour rub, chicken soup, hot water bottles with a fluffy case, blankets and a vast selection of shitty films that you allow yourself to suffer through when your ill.”

Zayn could reply with a short and snappy remark, but he realises that Liam is actually offering to help him through this horrendous plight, which is more than Harry would’ve done. He feels like he deserves to be a little bit spoiled, what with his current state of being, and if Liam is going to spoil him, then who is he to reject it?

“Thanks,” Zayn says quietly. “For like. Doing this for me.”

Liam smiles. “It’s more than alright.”

“You didn’t have to, though,” Zayn says. “You could’ve just let me sob into my arms in Costa before someone would’ve kicked me out.”

Liam wrinkles his nose. “Nah, ‘s’not in my nature to see someone struggling and ignore them,” Liam says, turning to Zayn with a grin. “There has been many a time when I had to push my car home because I gave a homeless man my petrol money.”

“Well,” Zayn sniffles, “thank goodness for your empathy and not letting me suffer alone at the hands of this horrible illness and my incompetent, idiotic roommate.”

“Is he that bad?” Liam asks. “Like, I know he’s a bit of a knob for kicking you out like this, but –“

“His spunk clogs the shower drain,” Zayn begins, “all he watches are period dramas on BBC One and ITV, he refuses to buy anything that he deems to be processed, and he also can’t eat spicy food, so you can imagine what ordering Indian takeaway is like.”

Liam grins. “But period dramas are brilliant.”

Zayn groans. “Oh, my god.”

“Downton Abbey is the best thing that ITV has ever done,” Liam defends, “and Lark Rise to Candleford was so fucking tense, like, worse than Bake Off.”

“Is that all you do?” Zayn asks, laughing as Liam turns a corner. “Watch period dramas on the telly on Sunday evenings?”

“I have a job, Zayn, petrol and road tax don’t pay for themselves.”

“Oh? What is it you do, then?”

“I work in Debenhams,” Liam tells him, and Zayn promptly snorts. Liam frowns. “What? Not fancy enough for you?”

“Nah, it’s just that nobody living in London can afford a flat by themselves with the wages they get from Debenhams,” Zayn grins, and then sneezes.

“My parents pay for the flat, but I pay for little things,” Liam tells him. “Like petrol and food and, like, Netflix.”

“Ah,” Zayn says, raising his brows. “You’re rich, then?”

Liam frowns. “I’m not. My parents are.”

“And you, by extension.”

“I’m not rich, Zayn,” Liam repeats, before turning into the car park outside of the swankiest block of flats that Zayn has ever seen. Zayn leans towards the window, looking up at the building before letting out a low whistle.

“You’re not rich,” Zayn mocks, “but you live here?”

Liam shrugs, unbuckling his seatbelt. “My parents are rich. I’m not.”

“Yeah, alright,” Zayn mutters, rolling his eyes, before stepping out of the car, but as he stands up he stumbles, blinking rapidly and putting one hand on the roof of Liam’s car to steady himself.

“Zayn?” Liam asks, sounding mildly concerned. “You alright?”

Zayn takes three deep steadying breaths before straightening out, still feeling slightly unbalanced. “Yeah,” he breathes, “I think. Just a bit dizzy.”

Liam pouts, jutting out his bottom lip before he comes to stand next to Zayn, splaying his hand on the small of Zayn’s back to steady him and Zayn leans into the touch. “It’s a good thing there’s a lift,” Liam tells Zayn as they begin to walk towards the doors, “because I wouldn’t think you’d be able to make it up the steps.”

“I’m not unfit, Liam,” Zayn groans, which is a heinous lie as his diet is solely kebabs, Pepsi and cigarettes. Weed, sometimes, if he’s feeling “organic”. Only the best ganja for him.

“Wasn’t saying you were,” Liam laughs, “it’s only that I live on the fifteenth floor.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, it’s probably best you have a lift, then.”

Liam huffs out a laugh, holding the door open for Zayn. “After you.”

Zayn supresses the urge to roll his eyes, and steps inside. The lobby of Liam’s apartment complex Zayn finds to be – for lack of a better word – incredibly posh. The floors are tiled with marble and they’re gleamingly white, sparkling under the soft, warm lights. There’s a large window opposite the door that looks out onto a large, green area with tables and a beautifully decorated garden with flowers in the hedges and shaped bushes. Zayn lets out a low whistle.

“Not rich my arse,” he says, his eyes scoping the surrounding area.

“My parents have a lot of money,” Liam shrugs, stepping in behind him, “and they like me, I suppose.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows again, turning to face Liam, and then sneezes three times in quick succession. The flowers, he thinks, they’re probably not helping his hayfever.

Liam looks anguished. “N’aw, you’re as sick as anything.”

“No shit,” Zayn tries to growl, bringing his hand up to cover his nose and mouth as he sneezes again.

“Come on, let’s get you properly looked after then,” Liam smiles, his hand on the small of Zayn’s back as he guides them towards the lifts. He presses the button and the doors slide open and they step inside before Liam presses another button and the doors slide shut again as the lift begins to ascend.

Zayn leans against the wall, his head suddenly heavy and thick as if someone has shoved three bags of cotton wool into his ears. He sniffs dejectedly. “God, I hate being ill. I hate hayfever and I hate spring.”

“You’ll be alright soon,” Liam promises. “There are plenty of warm blankets and films awaiting you. I assure you, you’ll be well looked after.” Liam rests his hand on Zayn’s forearm, and Zayn can’t help but feel a warmth spreading through his chest at the action.

It must be the hayfever.

“D’you do this often, then?” Zayn asks as the doors slide open, and Liam’s hand comes to rest above just above the curve of Zayn’s arse again.

“Do what?” Liam asks as he guides Zayn out the lift and begins to walk them down the hall.

“Invite sick, mopey strangers back to your place for peppermint tea and chicken noodle soup.”

The corner of Liam’s mouth curves up into a smile. “Can’t say I have, no.” He pulls a key from his pocket, jams it in the lock and turns it before pushing on the wood of the door to open in. “You’d be the first.”

“Aw, am I special then?” Zayn simples, sniffing again.

“Definitely,” Liam replies, “you’re the only one who seems to be allured by Peppermint tea and chicken noodle soup.”

“What can I say? I’m not like other boys,” Zayn teases before stepping into Liam’s flat.

It’s grand – extremely so – and it’s the first thing Zayn notices. The living room is large, furnished with a large loveseat, as well as a couple of rumpled bean bags, that sits opposite a wide screen telly that’s mounted on the wall. There are large floor to ceiling windows that cover the entirety of one wall, displaying most of Camden below.

Zayn lets out a low whistle. “You’re bloody minted.”

“My parents are,” Liam corrects, for about the third time, before he steps inside and closes the door behind him, shrugging off his jacket and toeing off his shoes. “And yes, my accommodation is…superfluous, I’ll admit. Especially for a bloke living by himself.”

“You must entertain a lot,” Zayn remarks, still looking around the room, before he, too, slips out of his shoes.

“Nah,” Liam says, walking over to stand next to him and digging his hands into the backs of his pockets. “Can’t say I do. Only have a couple of my mates ‘round for drinks, pizza and Fifa, and that’s about it.”

Zayn turns to him, eyebrow quirked. “No girlfriend?”

Liam blushes, averting his eyes. “Not really my area, no.”

Zayn’s interests are piqued. “Boyfriend, then?”

“’M’not so lucky when it comes to romance, let’s say,” Liam avoids, breezily. “Besides, I’ve got you for company now.”

Zayn’s nose tingles, before he sneezes and his eyes begin to water. “Lucky you.”

Liam smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkles and his nose scrunching up. “Make yourself comfortable,” he says moving away to what Zayn assumes to be the kitchen, “I’ll warm up the soup and get as many blankets as my arms can carry.” And then, he’s gone.

Zayn sniffs again, bringing his hand to his face to wipe the water from his eyes and cheeks before walking over to the sofa and flopping down on it unceremoniously, and _oh my god_ , he already feels better. He feels as if he’s sitting on a cloud, or some shit, because this sofa is the epitome of comfort and luxury. God knows how many times he’s been condemned to lie on the shitty sofa in his and Harry’s flat that the previous tenants left behind, and it’s more than awful – it’s stained and soiled with various bodily fluids that Harry and Louis like to decorate it with and beer, sunken in the middle and no more than three people can sit on it in fear that if they do, it’ll break completely. He refuses to go back to that deathtrap of a sofa, not now that he’s sat on Liam’s.

He wonders if it’d be rude for him to ask if he can move in.

Just as he tips his head back and lets out a contented breath, Liam comes out of the kitchen with three, white fluffy blankets in hand with a box of Kleenex balanced on top.

“Just got them out the dryer,” he says, from behind the blankets, “so they’re all toasty and warm.”

Liam drapes all three of them over Zayn, who is immediately enveloped in a soft cocoon of warmth. Oh, God, he loves it here.

“Oh my god,” Zayn breathes, reverently. “This is the best thing ever.”

“There’s a box of tissues just there,” Liam tells Zayn, pointing, “and I’ve got your wheaty bag heating up in the microwave, a pot of chicken noodle soup on the stove and a mug of Peppermint tea that just needs to cool down a bit.”

The corners of Zayn’s eyes leak with tears, and he’s not sure whether it’s because of the hayfever or because his emotions have got the better of him. “Liam, have you been told that you’re a saint?”

Liam laughs. “Can’t say I have, no.”

“Well. You’re a saint and you’re amazing.”

Liam blushes, flopping down next to Zayn. “Aw, you’re too kind.”

Zayn scoffs, and then sneezes. “I think you mean,” he begins, snagging a tissue and wiping his nose, “that _you’re_ too kind. Nobody has looked after me this well since I left my mum’s house.”

“Well, then,” Liam says softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Maybe you need to get better friends.”

Zayn smirks. “Yeah, Harry’s a bit of a wanker.”

Liam grins. “Teensy bit.” Liam stands up, slapping his hands down on his thighs. “Well. I’m gonna go get your Peppermint tea, so sit tight.” He smiles, before turning and making his way towards the kitchen, but then he pauses. “And you should probably let your mate know where you are – I don’t want him to think you’re abducted and I don’t really fancy police arresting me on the suspicion of kidnapping.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose. “Ah, shit yeah,” he agrees, pulling his phone from his back pocket. “Cheers for reminding me, mate.”

Liam smiles at him before disappearing into the kitchen.

Zayn unlocks his phone, only to realise Harry’s texted him eleven times. Zayn scrubs a hand over his face. Shit.

_Enjoying the fresh air???  :) take pics 4 me!!!!_

_Don’t have too much fun and u better not be smoking weed, you know how the smell makes me gag_

_Zayn replyyyy :(((_

_Zaynie zayn zayn are u ignoring me cos I kicked u out lmaoo_

_Are u actually annoyed zayn_

_Zen :(((_

_Come back to me bebz I miss our chats_

_Well it would be a chat if u FUCKING REPLIED_

_Are u dead????? Pls don’t be dead im soryr_

_I lov u don’t be dead pls_

_Zayn?!?!?!_

Zayn sighs. He begins to tap out his reply.

**Chill m8 im fine**

Harry’s reply is instantaneous.

_Where r u then?? Uve been gone for like three hours lol I expected u to sulk around outside and then come back after like 5 minutes_

**You’re a twat.**

_Im swooning_

**Stfu u prick, im just letting u know im not dead**

_Didn’t think u were_

**Ur texts imply otherwise**

_:(((( I hope ur hayfever kills u oxoxoxox_

**Actually my friend is looking after me, fuck u very much :))) xxxxxxxxxxx**

_Friend?_

**You don’t know him**

_Ahh, your “”friend””” ;))))))_

**…m8**

_oi oi, get that dick, son_

**BYE HARRY**

Zayn slides his phone into his pocket just as Liam emerges from the kitchen with a mug for Zayn and himself.

“Here you go!” Liam says with a smile as he sits down on the sofa next to Zayn and hands him a mug. “Nice, warm peppermint tea.”

“Cheers,” Zayn sniffs with a smile, immediately taking a sip. He sighs contentedly. “Oh my god, tea has never tasted so good.” He leans back into the soft cushions of the sofa, and his eyelids slide shut. “Cheers, Liam.”

“Anytime,” Liam smiles. “Just let me know if you need anything else, yeah? Don’t hesitate to ask.”

Zayn sneezes thrice, sips his tea, and considers. “A cuddle might be nice,” he says after a while. When Liam doesn’t respond, he shakes his head, renouncing the idea. “But, like, you don’t have to, ‘cause that’d be really fucking weird, because who goes to someone’s place and demands a cuddle?”

Zayn peeks at Liam through the corner of his eye, and Liam’s laughing, tongue pressed against the back of his teeth and the corners of his eyes crinkling adorably. “Come here, you great idiot,” Liam says, and Zayn smiles, shuffling closer to Liam, careful not to spill the contents of the mug over their laps. Liam wraps his arm around Zayn’s shoulders, and Zayn rests his head on Liam’s shoulder, and lets out a contented sigh.

“You’re magical,” Zayn tells him. “You’re, like. Soft. And warm.”

Liam snorts. “Does deliriousness come along with hayfever as well?”

Zayn swats his chest. “Shut up. You’re warm and I’m ill, and I want comfort.”

“Yes, dear,” Liam obliges, holding Zayn closer.

They wind up watching every single Marvel film, and Zayn starts feeling a bit less hopeless by the beginning of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, and he’s _incredibly_ comfortable nestled in the warmth of Liam’s tree trunks for arms.

Liam’s actually incredibly funny, on top of unnecessarily generous and outstandingly gorgeous. He makes stupid comic book puns and little sounds of annoyance in the back of his throat every time Steve does something stupid, but most importantly, he and Zayn fawn over their mutual adoration of Chris Evans’ arse and how phenomenal they look in the Captain America suit.

“I mean,” Liam says, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the side. “His arse cheeks just look so _round_. And pert.”

“It literally is so perfect,” Zayn laments. “My bum is just a bit flat looking and sad, really.”

“Oh,” Liam smiles, pulling Zayn in tighter. “I’m sure your bum is lovely.”

Zayn feels a heat rising to his cheeks, but teases, “Ooh, Liam, you dirty little thing. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

And Liam, _bless him,_ goes completely red and stutters, tripping over his words. “I mean – it’s just – I wasn’t – I didn’t mean to –“

“N’aw, look at you, redder than anything,” Zayn smiles. “So cute and precious.”

Liam nudges him slightly. “Yeah, do one, you prick.”

Zayn laughs and relaxes back into Liam’s warmth. It’s so _weird_ , how they’ve clicked instantly. Zayn usually takes ages to warm up to people – it took him months to like Harry, and Louis even more so – but he’s so chill, and _himself_ with Liam. It’s like they’ve known each other for years.

Zayn checks himself. It’s probably the peppermint tea talking.

“So…Liam,” Zayn begins, smoothly.

“Hm?”

“I notice that you express a certain interest in male bums,” Zayn jibes, andL Liam blushes, ducking his head into his chest.

“Is that an issue?”

“No,” Zayn dismisses easily. “Of course not. I’d be incredibly hypocritical, considering that I, too, take an avid interest in male anatomy. Especially bums. And other places.”

Liam huffs out a laugh. “That’s good to know.”

Zayn, for some reason unknown to him, gets butterflies in his stomach. “Is that so?”

Liam scoffs fondly, and rolls his eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be sick,” he avoids, easily. “What happened to sniffling, aloof Zayn?”

“He disappeared once Captain America was on the cards,” Zayn sighs, cuddling further into Liam.

“Didn’t know you liked superheroes,” Liam quips.

“You know barely anything about me,” Zayn smiles. “For all you know, I’m a serial killer who managed to get into your home and when you fall asleep, I’ll brutally murder you.”

“Yeah, alright,” Liam snorts. “You can barely overcome sniffles, so how the fuck do you plan on hiding a dead body?”

Zayn glares. “Fuck you, actually.”

“Fine, then I’ll just be taking my blanket and warmth –“

“ _No_ ,” Zayn protests. “Come back, please. I’ll be nice and kind and friendly and all that stupid foolishness.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Liam smiles. “Just for you.”

Zayn yawns and rests his head on Liam’s shoulder. “Yay,” he agrees tiredly. He feels his eyelids getting heavier as the seconds pass, and Liam is _so_ warm, and he’s so comfortable that he could fall asleep right there on Liam’s couch. In fact, he really wants to but –

It’d be wildly inappropriate. It’d be so _rude_ to just fall asleep on Liam, considering how hospitable and kind he’s been, as well as superb company.

But then again, on the other hand, he’s almost sure that if he _does_ fall asleep on Liam, Liam would be far too kind to wake him and would either carry him downstairs to his car and wake Zayn up gently – which is incredibly appealing because of Liam’s _gorgeous_ arms that Zayn would quite like to have wrapped around him – or Liam would let Zayn sleep on him, and _maybe_ even stay the night.

Hm. Both are incredibly appealing, but he doesn’t have a lot of time to ponder which one he’d prefer because his eyes are drooping and getting heavier and before he knows it, he’s lulled into sleep by the sound of Liam’s heartbeat.

 

When he’s woken, Liam’s face is inches from his and the room is bathed in darkness. Zayn almost freaks out because he doesn’t remember where the fuck he is, but then he realises and makes the executive descision to close his eyes again –

But Liam nudges him on the shoulder again, jolting him from his sleep. Ugh, _twat._

“Whaaaat,” Zayn grumbles, voice thick with sleep. “Whass the time?”

“It’s, like, half past three in the morning, and your phone has been ringing non-stop for, like, an hour and a half.”

Zayn frowns, and pulls out his phone, and – yep, there it is: thirty nine missed calls from **_WANKER_**. Whoops.

“Ah, shit,” Zayn swears. “I forgot about Harry. Knowing him, he probably thinks I’m in Stockewell in a drug den.”

Liam raises an amused eyebrow. “Is that something you do often?”

“Only when I have enough money,” Zayn teases back, and then yawns.

Liam looks sheepish. “Yeah, I’m sorry -  I probably should’ve woke you earlier, but you looked so peaceful and I didn’t wanna disturb you.”

Zayn’s heart stutters. “Oh, Liam. One day, your virtue is gonna get you shanked.”

Liam snorts. “I most certainly hope not, I’ve gotten quite accustomed to my blood being inside my body.” He holds a hand out for Zayn to take. “Come on, then, let’s get you home to Harry.”

Zayn whines but takes Liam’s hand, and gets off the sofa. He slips into his shoes and shrugs on his jacket and Liam snags his keys before leading Zayn out of the flat, down the stairs and outside into his car, and Liam – being the kind fucking gentleman he is – opens the car door for Zayn.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Zayn smiles, before sliding into the car.

Liam gets in, jams the key into the ignition, and the engine rumbles to life. “Where to?”

Zayn prattles off his address, and Liam taps it into his Sat Nav and sets off. Zayn slips in and out of sleep during the car ride, but they pull up outside of his flat not half an hour later.

“Cheers, Liam,” Zayn smiles. “For, like. Looking after me today. And for the ride.”

Liam smiles back. “Anytime,” he says, voice soft.

It’s a bittersweet moment, Zayn thinks, and as he goes to undo his seatbelt and leave the car, Liam grabs onto the crook of his elbow, stopping him.

“Wait,” Liam says, and then scribbles on the back of a Costa receipt and then thrusts it into Zayn’s hands.

Zayn looks at it, puzzled. “What is it?”

“My number,” Liam blushes. “In case, like, you ever wanna…um, meet up, again. Or, like. Dinner. Or something.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows, and then pockets the paper. “Alrighty, then.” He leans over the gear stick and presses a kiss to Liam’s stubble. “I’ll text you, yeah?”

Liam smiles, and blushes again, and Zayn winks before leaving the car. He hears Liam drive off, and he looks over his shoulder to see Liam’s little red car turning left at the end of the street, and he smiles to himself, before turning his key in the lock, climbing up the stairs to his flat and unlocking door.

“Zayn?” Harry’s voice comes from the kitchen. Harry pokes his head around corner and beams like the sun off Teletubbies when he’s sees Zayn. “Zayn!” he cries, running up to him and wrapping him in a suffocating embrace.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Zayn protests, pushing Harry off him, but Harry just holds him tighter, grip firm like a bony, gangly octopus.

“Where _were_ you?” Harry demands once he pulls back, pouting. “I thought you were, like. Dead. In a bin somewhere in south east London.”

“I told you,” Zayn says, pushing past Harry and walking into his room, “I was with a friend.”

Harry looks mischievous all of a sudden, and he wiggles his brows. “Oh, your _friend_ ,” Harry grins.

“Fuck off, Harry, he’s actually just a friend.”

“That’s what I told you about Louis, but now we fuck on a bi-daily basis and I’m ninety percent sure we’re gonna get married,” Harry smiles, flopping back on Zayn’s bed.

“Yeah, well, Liam isn’t Louis,” Zayn says, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it in the corner of the room.

“Ooh, _Liam_ ,” Harry crows. “Exotic. Sexy.”

“Hardly.”

“Shut up,” Harry says simply. He leans forward, resting his chin on his hands like an attentive student. “So. Tell me all the details.”

“What details,” Zayn sighs, pulling his phone out of his pocket and saving Liam’s number.

“Of how you two fucked. Was he on the top, or you? Did he go down on you? How good was he at suckin’ dick? Did he –“

“For _fuck’s_ sake, Harry,” Zayn groans tiredly. “It’s three in the morning. I’m ill and tired. I want to sleep.”

“Tell me,” Harry urges, “and then I’ll leave. Scouts honour.”

“ _Ya ilahi,”_ Zayn sighs, before turning to Harry. “Fine. This is what happened.”

Harry beams, eyes sparkling.

“I was in Costa, after you banished me from the house – because you’re an actual twat, and I’m gonna get you back for that, don’t worry – and I had hayfever and I was sniffing and being all sad and ill in the back of Costa, yeah? And then Liam taps me on the shoulder and asks me if I’m okay, and I tell him I’m not because I’m fucking ill because you locked me out the house – _then,_ my eyes start to water and he thinks I’m crying – which I wasn’t, so wipe that fucking grin off your face, you prick – but then Liam, because he’s nice, offered to, like. Look after me.”

“In the sexy way, or the nurse way?” Harry interjects.

“The nurse way, you nympho,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. “So. I agreed –“

“Wait, you just agreed? Just like that? What if he was gonna kill you?”

“ _I’m_ telling the story here,” Zayn glares. “And you better shut up if you wanna hear the rest of it.”

“Yep, sorry,” Harry says, miming zipping his lips shut, and then makes a gesture for Zayn to continue.

“So,” Zayn continues, “I agreed – after he convinced me he wasn’t a psychopathic murderer – and he took me back to his for tea and movies and cuddles. Then I fell asleep, and he drove me back here. The end.”

Harry frowns. “That’s it?”

Zayn shrugs. “Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p’.

“Is cuddles a euphemism for bum sex?”

“ _No,_ Harry,” Zayn sighs tiredly and then points to the door. “Bye.”

Harry makes a face, before trudging out the room, muttering something about how boring Zayn is. Zayn watches him, annoyed and amused, before he flops on his bed and sends a text to Liam.

_Thanks for today. And like, everything. See you soon, hopefully xx_

Liam replies within ten seconds.

**I hope so too!!! Nightttttt xxx**

And Zayn falls asleep, for the second time that night, thinking about Henley shirts and brown eyes.

_**fin** _

**Author's Note:**

> ([this](http://38.media.tumblr.com/3e78a948cc56010a8708fb03d1902327/tumblr_inline_nh1zyozEuO1s7meqb.gif) is how i imagined liam waking zayn up)
> 
> if it isn't obvious, i think peppermint tea is the actual shit  
> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated :))


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